


You Hear That?

by Swindlefingers



Series: Ellara and Samson [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Fantasizing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swindlefingers/pseuds/Swindlefingers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months before the Exalted Council is called, Inquisitor Lavellan attends a party in Orlais at Empress Celene's invitation. Her champion, Samson, is in attendance and notices she could use a hand relaxing to get her head back in The Game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Hear That?

There are too many people for such a small space: a “private” party for the Empress with only her closest companions. The room is stuffed to bursting with pomp and perfume, masks and manners. ****

Samson watches the Inquisitor move from group to group with a tight smile hanging below her half-mask. She pauses in between each one to let the smile fall off her face as she rolls her shoulders and quietly cracks her knuckles. He might not entirely understand how the Game is played, but he knows when someone's showing too much of their hand.

He catches her eye as she passes by and gestures to the dark, empty hallway behind him with a small flick of his head. She nods and slips from the crowded room into the cavernous hall. He follows at a respectable distance and watches her swish down the hallway in her gown; ivory silk skirts and a rigid corseted top. He reminds himself to write Vivienne’s dressmaker an official thank you, especially for the plunging neckline.

“Keep walking,” he whispers behind her as she pauses next to a moonlit window to untie her mask. With his hand on the small of her back, he leads her to a darkened corner.

“What's wrong?” she watches him remove his mask and pull off his gauntlets, setting them down gently on a small side table.

“Looked like you could use a break,” he whispers as he backs her up against the wall.

“I could use a lot of things,” she mutters, looking over his shoulder and back into the brightly lit room. “The Comtesse keeps deflecting all-”

Samson leans in to capture her mouth with his, cupping his leather-scented hands around her neck, brushing his thumbs along the edge her jaw. She tenses for a second before letting a sigh slip through her nose. Her warm breath rolls across his cheek, her lips soften, her shoulders drop, her hands pull him as close as she can. He opens his mouth, lets her tongue sweep along his lower lip before joining his.

The champion armor Ellara had made for him is far too sound. Her fingers scrabble around his waist and chestplate, searching for places she can touch his skin, but they find none.

He brushes his fingertips down her exposed breastbone, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

Inch by inch, he works the hem of her skirts above her hips by balling the voluminous fabric up in his fists and pinning it between them.

He presses one hand against the wall next to her head in an attempt to keep his armored weight off of her, and runs his fingers down her soft stomach to cup her mound with the other. He lazily strokes back and forth over the dampening fabric of her silken smallclothes. Ellara rocks her hips into his hand, her lips becoming hungrier against his.

Samson breaks away from their kiss.

“You hear that?” he whispers into her ear.

“Hear what?” she stills and grabs his wrist.

He chuckles, his fingers still rubbing and teasing from where she has them pinned, and dipping his head to slowly kisses his way across her throat.

“Sounds like footsteps,” he hums into her other ear, pressing his finger along her slit, pushing the silky fabric into her wetness.

He hears her inhale sharply.

“Might be a serving girl,” he whispers against her mouth. “Though… those footsteps don’t sound light enough.”

She lets slip a small gasp as she releases his wrist.

Samson’s finger rubs against her clit, feeling it’s firmness through the soaked fabric of her smallclothes. “Must be the Empress,” he hisses.

The way her breath catches in her throat, he knows she’s given in to the farce. He hooks his finger around the waistband of her smallclothes and wrenches them down her thighs.

“Imagine it,” his breath hot in her ear, dragging his his teeth over her earlobe. “Empress Celene catching the Inquisitor just like this. Skirts hiked up, knickers ‘round her knees, cunt dripping,” he circles his finger around her clit. “She’s been aching to know what you taste like.”

“Imagine the empress on her knees for you,” he tells her.

The way her head leans back against the wall, and the way her throat bobs as she swallows another sigh, Samson knows she’s doing just that. She’s picturing the ruler of Orlais, heels clacking against the marble floor, the rustle of her fine skirts as she falls to her knees before the Inquisitor. He watches a flush bloom along her chest as it rises and falls, quicker and quicker. She grinds against his slick fingers, stifling her moans by biting her lip.

They’ve got good practice staying quiet.

Moments pass as his hand deftly works her. Stroking, rubbing, nibbling, sighing.

Ellara brings her head down, leveling her gaze on him. “Fuck me, Sam,” she quietly begs.

“Oh, very tempting, but I’d never interrupt a fine meal like this.”

Maker, he wishes he were even half hard right now. He’d set her ass on that table, make her come, get his, and enjoy watching her play the room for the rest of the night while his spend runs down the inside of her leg.

But this isn’t _for_ him, he reminds himself.

She huffs and lets her head fall back again. Lets herself slip back into that fantasy: the empress’ pale face and pink tongue pressed against her wet cunt.

“She’s good with her tongue,” he parts his fingers and lets them rub along both sides of her clit. She grips the edge of his breastplate to steady herself as her leg begins to shake.

“Should be with all the talking she does. That royal tongue always gets her what she wants.” He brings his fingers together over the tip of her clit, pressing them firmly down towards her entrance, like the empress’ tongue might. Long and languid.

“Know what she wants right now, hm?” his fingers slide inside her, his rough palm pressed flat against her clit, rubbing from side to side.

Ellara shakes her head, her nostrils flaring with each breath.

“She wants you to come,” he brushes the rough stubble of his cheek against hers. “She wants the taste you on her lips for the rest of the night.”

His slick, strong fingers slide up one side of her sensitive clit and down the other, firmer and faster. He focuses his movement along the side that makes her leg shake with each swipe.

“You going to come for her?” he nips at the the skin under her ear, feels her pulse racing against his lips.

Ellara nods her head vigorously. She tightens her grip on his forearm.

“Come all over that pretty, powdered face of hers?”

Her mouth drops open as her body tenses.

“Quietly, quietly,” he reminds as he uses his bulk to gently press her against the wall.

Ellara snaps her mouth shut, teeth clacking together, her thighs clamp around his wrist. She buries her face against his armored shoulder, muffling a sharp cry as her body shudders for a moment and then stills.

As her pleasure ebbs, she sags against his frame, slowly catching her breath. He purses his lips and blows air down the back of her neck. She hums contentedly.

Ellara raises her head with a deep breath, face flushed, lips swollen, a lazy smile on her mouth. She watches him suck his fingers clean as she reaches down to pull up her smallclothes and smooth down her skirts.

Samson nods his head back towards the brightly lit room at the other end of the hall, handing her mask, “Best go thank the Empress for that before the night’s over.”

She laughs through her nose as she ties her mask to her face. She pulls his chin down, laying a slow, soft kiss against his lips, “Thank you, Empress.”


End file.
